Human
by Miles2GoBe4ISleep
Summary: Inspiered by the pub scene from The Hounds of Baskerville. John finds out just how human Sherlock really is. Vulnerable!Sherlock Comforting!John  Warning: abuse, and possible self-harm. Better sumary inside
1. Chapter 1

So I started this a bit after I watched The Hounds of Baskerville, and finally decided to finish and post it. Hopefully it will be a nice break from all the Reichenbach Falls stuff going on haha. This is one of my first Sherlock fics so I'm a bit nervous but I hope you like it.

Warning: abuse and possible self-harm in latter chapters. Vulnerable! Sherlock Comforting! John

…

John couldn't help the worry that was building in the pit of his normally iron stomach.

Was _the_ _Sherlock Holmes_ having a …breakdown?

Sure he had seen the genius in his dark bouts of boredom. When he would sulk and brood around the flat. But now he feared he was bordering on hysterics. Sherlock was never scared, always logical and detached even when he got into his slightly manic excitement from cases. The man jumped from rooftops for gods sakes, willingly got into cabs with serial killers. And yet here he was trembling; scared.

And claiming to have seen a monster? The very same man who had a bloody site dedicated to the science of deduction. Reason, science and logic. This was…bizarre. If John was honest it was even a bit frightening.

"There is nothing wrong with me!" The slipping man shouted. John wasn't sure who he was trying to convince.

_What's wrong with me! Stupid stupid stupid! _He berated himself, as his breathing came in quick bursts and he could hear the blood pounding in his ears. His body was betraying him, _weak! _

At this point the people in the small pub were, not so subtly, watching them. Knowing how proud his friend was he figured it would be best to take Sherlock some place more private to have this…well whatever the hell it was.

"Sherlock" John whispered sternly trying to take control.

"Sherlock" he tried again a little louder and more authoritative. The detective appeared unfazed and did not hear John, his nervous trembling hands rubbed at his face feverishly, and his breathing sped up. John reached out to shake the other man's shoulder to bring him out of his almost manic daze. As soon as his hand made contact with the smartly dressed shoulder Sherlock's hand whipped away with a start as if he were just shocked with electricity, and hit John in the face. The pub went quite again but neither man paid any attention to the other rude patrons gawking at them. Both stared at each other in confusion. Sherlock looked down at his hand accusingly then up at John's confused and angry face. He was in shock; what had he just done. There was a palpable silence between then, both not sure what the other was going to do.

"John…" The great detective was at a loss for words, his grey blue eyes darted around, not picking up the information they usually did, they were wild and lost.

"No, give it a rest Sherlock" John rubbed at his now bright red cheek.

"I…I'm so…I'm so sorry." Without even picking up his large beloved coat, he made his way very quickly out of the room.

_What the hell was that_ John questioned as he rubbed at his cheek absentmindedly. John groaned in recognition; he'd like nothing more than to just go back to his room and ignore Sherlock, but he knew he wasn't going to do that. He'd always go back after him. Frustrated and slightly worried John picked up the coat and headed out to find his infuriating mate.

_Yes let's go after the ass that just hit you and make sure he's ok. _ The thick grey material felt almost ominous in his arms, everything about it screamed Sherlock and it just wasn't right for it to not be with its partner, he rationalized, besides its cold out and if Sherlock got sick he'd have to deal with it. Really he was quite concerned for the other man, but he didn't want to admit to himself that something could be wrong. When he reached the cool night air he looked around to see a long thin shadow sitting on a bench, hunched over, face in the owners hands.

John marched over to him, and cleared his throat uncomfortably when he didn't look up.

"John?" The voice sounded surprised and excited at first, and then his eyes dropped with shame and fear remembering what he'd done. There it was, all desire to chew the man out had dissipated, John sighed and sat on the bench opposite Sherlock to get a better look at his face.

"You…uh…should really put your coat on, it's quite chilly out" He reached over and handed it to him.

"Thanks. But I'm fine" Sherlock whispered and sat it next to him on the old bench.

"Of course you are" John laughed bitterly, suddenly angry again.

"I'm always able to detach myself from such trite and distracting things." Sherlock shook his head confused.

"What you mean _emotions_, the things normal people have." John nearly missed the slight flinch from Sherlock.

"Is that what _normal _people have then. Well I'm not normal! Normal people are stupid. You don't get as good as me at what I do with emotions muddling up your logic. Emotions leave room for error and failure."

"And relationships and happy healthy lives" John continued exasperated. The man across from him just scoffed in response.

"Relationships; they lead nowhere productive."

"How could you say that? You want to be alone the rest of your life, push everyone away!"

"People will come and go John, regardless of what I _feel_" He spat not in a self-pitying way but with a cold cynical edge. "It's what you let yourself feel that determines what power they have over you." John couldn't help but feel sad over hearing his friend say this, because when it came down to it no matter how the genius wanted to put it, he was afraid of being left behind, alone. He didn't trust people. But why?

"Besides I'm married to my work. That will never change. But the moment I let petty things like emotions cloud my reason that will be gone."

"So you think you won't be as smart" The doctor asked unbelieving

"I _know _it." He brought his hand together up under his chin in the clinical way he always did.

"Why, why are you so scared of not being the best, you don't have to always be the smartest damn person in the room you don't have to always be right."

"I'm not scared" Sherlock deadpanned making John even more frustrated.

"Why!" John insisted not believing him.

"Because it's all I'm good for!" Sherlock shouted suddenly making both men go very quiet. The silence hung in the night air, like carbon monoxide; the longer they sat there mute, the more it filled their lungs and made it harder to speak.

"No Sherlock…that's where you are actually wrong."

"You know it's true. Science and deduction are the only things I've never failed at, the only things I'm always sure of. They will never fail me in return or leave." He looked up daring to meet John's eyes again and laughed bitterly, "If you think about it, it's the perfect relationship for me. If you haven't noticed people don't like me, even I see it. But they keep me around. Why?" John didn't dare respond knowing it was a rhetorical question.

"They have no other choice, they need me." He gave John a satisfied smirk.

"Sherlock…"

"But tonight, tonight was different, I lost control, I was stupid" He frowned looking lost again, unaware of Johns presence.

"Sherlock…what were you thinking about when you hit me in the pub?"

"Pardon"

"What were you thinking about, you looked lost in thought" John pushed.

"Nothing." Came a short reply indicating he didn't want to speak any more of the matter, but John wasn't going to give up so easily this time.

"Oh come on, you're never thinking of nothing."

Sherlock took a deep breath and shut his eyes in frustration, "How I could be so stupid to let it happen again."

"What…"

"Let emotions cloud my judgment."

"I'm still not getting…"

"Of course you're not." Sherlock breathed impatiently, "There was a time when I was young, I was…weak…foolish" His voice was even but John could see the shame.

"Sherlock, you can't be serious, you were just a child" John tried to explain to him to no avail.

"I know, and I'm not proud of it." If it wasn't so depressing John would have rolled his eyes.

"So what do you mean you let your emotions cloud your judgment" The doctor asked almost hesitantly.

"It's not important." The other man looked away stubbornly.

"Sherlock!"

"Drop it!" He snapped, John knew then it was big, he had struck a nerve.

"Sherlock…please" John implored, then after receiving no response, "Fine, but if it wasn't a big deal like you're saying it isn't you would tell me" Sherlock gave him a hard calculating look as if he were trying to sort something out.

"Fine." He decided his walls still firmly guarding him and his schooled expression one of indifference. John held his breath not believing Sherlock was actually going to tell him the truth, actually going to open up to him.

"It's all quite boring and unoriginal. I was a difficult child, I suppose not much has changed." He scoffed at his own expense.

"My father was a very firm man, he let his anger control him, he wasn't stupid but he was brilliant either, no not like me, I was too smart for him and he couldn't handle it. I would do something, and he would snap." He looked down for a moment and when it seemed as if he wasn't going to speak again, john questioned in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

"Sherlock did he…"

"Yes. You don't have to be afraid to say it. He beat me." Sherlock's voice was far to detached as he shrugged his shoulder.

"He used everything in his reach; I suppose he was a resourceful man in that regard" Sherlock's laugh cut through the thick night air like steel. John's stomach churned; he couldn't stand hearing his friend speak about something so awful that happened to him like that, with such nonchalance.

"Belts, his own hand, even the fire place poker. That one unsurprisingly left quite a bit of damage."

"And no one noticed not students or teachers, how about Mycroft and your mother?" John asked shocked by this revelation.

"The teachers and students thought I was a freak anyway so they didn't pay much mind. As for Mycroft and mummy well, people see what they want to see. Mycroft looked up to our father, he was always in his good graces; Mycroft was the _perfect_ son. And mummy well as intelligent as she was she didn't want to see the truth, I was just an insolent child and my father was giving me my proper _punishment_" John could feel hot rage like white sparks burst in his vision. How could everyone be so ignorant and selfish, the people that were supposed to protect him supposed to keep him safe, failed him in the worst way.

"Did anyone find out?"

Sherlock was quite for a long pensive moment his eyes turning glassy as they were far away in a hell John couldn't touch or fathom. "One night it had escalated too far, even mummy and Mycroft were involved in the spectacle, trying to calm him down telling him to stop from the banister. Then I was stupid enough to let it affect me" He spat full of self-loathing, John wanted to say something but didn't dare interrupt him now. "I cried John. Like a foolish weak little child. I cried. My father had given me fair warning to stop, 'Shut up!' he shouted 'stop crying boy or so help me I'll kill you!' but I didn't. And he nearly succeeded in his threat." Sherlock was far gone now, reliving the tragic night. "I woke up in the hospital, and because it had been my fifth time going for such injuries they got suspicious and called Social Services. He went to prison. And as strong willed and brilliant as my mother was, she couldn't handle it." He paused trying to hide the way his voice cracked, "She hung herself three months later; I was the one to find her." Sherlock stole a quick glance at John gaging his reaction, expecting to see disgust .There was such remorse and pain in the foggy blue eyes as they looked at him John couldn't hold his silence any longer.

"That wasn't your fault Sherlock"

"He was a sharp ire filled man, John, but he was still weak. And the weak only attack the weak. I was an easy target because I let myself be! If I wasn't so emotional I could have thought of a way out, it wouldn't have been as bad I wouldn't have ended up in the bloody hospital! My mother wouldn't have died. I was stupid so stupid" His cold detachment was gone now and replaced by self-deprecating fury. Sherlock pulled on his hair like he did when confused or frustrated and dug his nails into his arms.

"Sherlock" John began as level as he could after hearing the heartbreaking confession from his friend. When Sherlock showed no sign of calming down, John quickly sat next to him on the bench, despite his logic telling him to approach the situation carefully unlike earlier. As slowly and nonthreateningly as possible John put one arm behind Sherlock's back then after receiving only a small flinch he brought the other one around his chest and held him lightly at first.

"John?" He questioned his voice thick with tears even though he tried to hide it.

"Shh Sherlock I'm not going to hurt you"

"I know" He responded quietly, John found a grin stretching across his face.

"So…um…is this meant to…comfort me?"

"Is it working?"

"Yes actually" Sherlock responded confused. "Is this what people do?"

"Yes it's a hug Sherlock" John squeezed tighter, feeling another wave of sadness; his friend should know what a bloody hug felt like. After a long comfortable silence of them sitting together huddled in the cold, fighting off old demons, John spoke what he'd been dying to say

"You Sherlock Holmes are not weak. You are the strongest, bravest man I know. And you do have a heart, a big one…but that just makes you even stronger." Sherlock closed his eyes in response taking in a deep jagged breath. The man felt so thin and breakable in his arms, he had never experienced this Sherlock before, but he promised himself he wouldn't let it get hurt.

"Thank you John."

"Sherlock" John said suddenly frowning

"Hmm?" He asked eyes still shut.

"You're bleeding" The doctor said going to roll up the man's sleeve to examine the damage. Sherlock's eyes flew open in panic

"Don't"

…

Sorry this was sad, writing abuse is really hard but it's pivotal to the character and story in this case. Let me know what you think, you want me to write more? Please review and let me know.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews and support, it means a lot and motivate me to write. I wasn't anticipating such great feedback! So thank you too; rawr52 No1WithABullet Psychedelica Reynardetta Lillibella cdewinter78 WhoKnows909 OddmentsandTweaks you are all so kind!

"**Three-quarters of the sickness of intelligent people come from their intelligence. They need at least a doctor who can understand this sickness." Marcel Proust**

….

"Sherlock I just want to see it" John laughed figuring Sherlock's reaction was just him being his stubborn self when it came to getting medical assistance. He thought fondly back to his friends row with the 'shock blanket'. John reached out again to grab his friends arm but he just flinched away more violently this time.

"I said don't" he reiterated sternly, getting to his feet; it was power play, he felt more in control from his higher vantage point. John put up his hands in surrender defusing the situation before Sherlock left.

"Ok ok…I just want to see how badly your hurt."

"I'm fine" Sherlock said leaving no room for argument in his tone.

"You're bleeding" John countered calmly.

"Yes and I'm fine."

"No you're bleeding."

"Thank you for that observation doctor." They both stared at each other for a long moment, trying to read the other. This was bizarre even for Sherlock. John was suddenly aware of the fact that he had actually never seen his friend's bear arms, it wasn't the sort of thing you ever really think about until its dragged right out to your attention. Maybe he had seen his friend just pull down his sleeve from across the room, covering those damn nicotine patches but he had never actually _seen_ them completely exposed for longer than a brief second from a distance. John could feel his stomach clench painfully in response to this.

"Sherlock…if you have any…old track marks or, or new ones" He felt dread at this possibility, "Its ok, I already kind of know about the drugs remember." Sherlock laughs at this and it's devoid of all humor, but sharp and snide, yet John can't help but feel the degrading gesture isn't directed at him. This just makes him more nervous.

"So if it's not that then, why…" John starts confused as he often is when it comes to Sherlock.

"People ask questions they don't won't the answers too, as stupid and dull as they are, they still are curious. So they ask questions, but aren't happy when they get a less than pleasant answer."

"It's the unpleasant answers that are the ones we need to know most…especially when its concerning the people we care about." Sherlock scoffed at this until he looked over at John and saw he was serious.

"Please Sherlock, I'm not just asking out of curiosity or whatever the hell you think I am, I want to know" _I want to help_ but he didn't dare say that out loud knowing Sherlock would just deny he needed any.

Sherlock stared at him with his icy blue orbs then hesitantly offered the other man his arm. His gaze became hard hiding his earlier apprehension and fear, John knew he was already shutting down putting up his walls. He couldn't delay this any further; he reached out tentatively, he felt his stomach rocking back and forth. The doctor took a breath to steady himself and as confidently as he could appear unbuttoned the cuff of Sherlock's sleeve. He gently began to roll up the sleeve…before he even got to the actual bleeding ones he saw _them_. Dozens of them. He tried to swallow the gasp climbing up his throat. Cuts and scars all in different stages of healing. They were thin white ones that snaked through almost unnoticed by the thicker raised ones. Some purple some still a crusted dahlia red some just beginning to scab. They ran up and down the entire length of his long pale forearm like a secret map of the darkest places in his mind and heart. The places he tortured himself and never let anyone see. It was completed by the small round scars of track marks and burns although those were scarcer. Straight rigid methodical lines, so precise as if he wouldn't let himself believe it was anything more than logical. Dozens of cracks, in whites, and red's and purples. No one ever saw the cracks but there they were. John's trembling fingers hovered over the scribed memories, not afraid of them but afraid of Sherlock's reaction to him touching them. The detective finally looked over at John analyzing his reaction with practiced and feigned indifference.

"Oh Sherlock" John whispered his voice thick

"I don't need your pity or judgment doctor Watson" Sherlock spat and pulled his arm back quickly.

"No…No Sherlock, it's not pity ok, or judgment for that matter. I would never pity or judge you"

"Then what is it"

"It's…sadness and concern."

"Why?" He asked his voice unreadable. John just looked at him with that same mixture of sadness and concern but also shock now. Did he really not get it?

"I'm sad that you feel you have to do this to yourself, I'm sad because you don't deserve this. And I'm concerned because this is dangerous."

"How do you know what I deserve? And it's not if you know what you're doing." Sherlock countered. John knew he was getting nowhere and needed to switch gears.

"Why?" Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, and John tried not to get angry; how could he be so casual about the whole thing.

"This body is just transport, it doesn't matter what I do to it. What I need to preserve is my mind. Sometimes it gets clouded and distracted by petty things…"

"You mean emotions and feeling" John clarified exasperated but Sherlock kept going

"So I need…a release, a way to sort and dispose of the things that I don't have the time to understand. I cut it out of me sort to speak" He chuckled at his morbid joke, and John felt his frustration give back to sadness. He was worth so much more than this, he didn't deserve _this. _

"It's also serves as a good reminder not to make stupid mistakes on a case. Sometimes it's helpful when I'm bored and my mind is tearing itself apart; the endorphin rush does a wonder on boredom. I suppose it's multifunctional; It's is very helpful and serves many purposes." John could feel his blood run cold.

"It's just another addiction"

"It is _not _an addiction" Sherlock stated sternly.

"It's just like the drugs"

"It's easier to hide" he had a sort of joyless sarcastic smile on his face, his lip quivered, the only sign of a cracking mask.

"Sherlock" John began walking closer to his friend. He shivered from the chill in the night air and the gravity of their conversation "There are other things to protect than just your mind…like your heart and your wellbeing. You don't deserve this and one day I swear to you, you will believe it."

"I won't judge you, but I would like if you stopped. If not for yourself yet then for me."

"John I don't think…" Sherlock began looking down ashamed.

"I'll help you I'll do whatever it takes" John shrugged his shoulder telling him it didn't matter what the price was he would help, "please... for your friend."

Sherlock hesitantly nodded his head, and shivered for reasons that had nothing to do with the chilly night air. John smiled sadly and handed him his coat anyway.

"Come on I need to clean those wounds, they probably reopened when you were squeezing your arm."

"John why… why aren't you disgusted by them, why haven't you run away yet?" Sherlock tried to ask clinically. John could feel his chest ach, how could the people in Sherlock's life have failed him so badly.

"I could never be disgusted by you, and I will never leave" John said seriously his eyes locking with the taller man's "Besides if body parts in the fridge haven't scared me off nothing will, and where else would I find a brilliant pain in the arse to spend my time with." John laughed his throaty giggle.

"I have heard we are a rare commodity" Sherlock grinned.

_Yes you are _John smiled to himself _yes you are._

No, he would never leave his best friend; he was going to help him. Although he had learned more about the man tonight than he could have imagined, learned things he didn't want to imagine, he knew there was still more to the man that he had yet to learn. So much more than anyone knew or gave him credit for. Sherlock Holmes was not just a great mind but a great heart. And he deserved so much better, and John was going to see to it that he got it….although it wouldn't be easy….

….

Sorry for the late post, I'm quite sick at the moment and have a fever so I hope this is believable and makes sense haha. I hope this didn't disappoint. Thanks again for reading and reviewing, please let me know what you think.


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